


Fantroll Oneshots

by aquatarius



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fantrolls, M/M, Original Character(s), Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatarius/pseuds/aquatarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots for some of my favorite homestuck ocs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. RorKet 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some Rorlan/Treket because RorKet is the best oc ship I have tbh.

  Rorlan ran his fingers through Treket’s hair, groaning inwardly. Even for Treket, this was disgusting. The smell, as well, was gag worthy. This was the last time Rorlan let Treket go grub hunting anywhere near the beach. If someone found out that Treket had…well, Rorlan doubted Treket would be able to hide in Rorlan’s basement if anyone found out his most recent activities.

  The screes and chirps of wrigglers from the other rooms kept making Treket look over to the door. The fifth time it happened, Rorlan set his hands on Treket’s shoulders, trying to squish the growing frustration.

  “Jothkt Treket.” He said. Treket answered with a warble. “Hold still.”

  “I am.” Treket said. Rorlan leaned over Treket, glowering down at him, and Treket smiled up to him as innocently as he could. It was his real smile, his crooked one. Rorlan tried to maintain his unamused look, but could feel his mouth twitching as Treket’s smile grew.

  “Stop that. You’re not cute.” Rorlan commanded. Treket cooed, grinning wide enough for Rorlan to see his teeth. Rorlan forced himself to scowl and gently smacked the back of Treket’s head. He reached down and wiped some violet off of Treket’s cheek then leaned back and continued to scrub his hair.

  “I might not be cute, but you, my dear, find me to be completely adorable and pitiable. Why else would you have taken me in so quickly?” Treket said. He began to purr loudly, tilting his head into Rorlan’s hands.

  “Hush.” Rorlan responded. He began to tilt Treket’s head back, pushing it under the water, and held it there for several moments. Treket blew a few bubbles, and Rorlan rolled his eyes as he let go of Treket’s head. “There. You’re clean.”

  “Are you quite sure? I think you might have missed a spot.” Treket said. Rorlan resisted the urge to smack his head again. It would only encourage the drinker. Instead, he reached down and unplugged the bath. When Treket whined, Rorlan gave him an exasperated look.

  “You don’t even liked baths.” Rorlan said, grabbing a towel. He offered it to Treket, who took it and wrapped it around himself as he stood up out of the water.

  Treket climbed out of the bath, and stood in front of the mirror. He stared at himself, face straight for once. Rorlan went to his side and touched his arm.

  “Jothkt. You’re all right. Come along.” He said. He kept his tone quiet and gentle. Treket turned to glance at him and then gave himself a little shake. He nodded, and let out a soft sigh.

  Treket turned and walked out of the room, and Rorlan followed behind him. He led the way down to the basement, and went over to settle himself in the hammock. As soon as the wrigglers saw Treket, they scurried out of their various hiding places and ran to climb over his feet and on his pant legs with screes of joy.

  Rorlan smiled and leaned on the doorway as he watched Treket bend and coo to each one. Treket loved them deeply, with all the love the he pretended didn’t exist. This was a part of Treket that he rarely let be seen, and it made Rorlan ache whenever he saw it.

  The wrigglers nibbled on Treket’s fingers and pant legs until he gently untangled himself and pulled himself into the hammock. A chorus of whimpers and whines followed him and Treket looked completely distressed at the noises.

  The blind one, who Rorlan completely refused to call by it’s ‘name’, began to run in circles, squealing each time it managed to press it’s own tail end against it’s face. Rorlan sighed and walked over to the grubs. He bent down and began to pick them up and hold them to his own chest, ignoring when they tried to run away from his hands. One bit down on his arm and he scowled at them.

  “Treket is tired.” Rorlan explained, setting them all down in a chest. It was nearly empty, having only a couple empty bottles. He set his hand on the lid, debating if he should close it or not. It might upset them, but it would certainly keep them quiet and all in one place.

  The brown wriggler looked up and stretched his claws up for Rorlan. Rorlan glanced around, then reached down to pat the brown one on the head. Maybe he should leave the chest open so they could see their caretaker.

  Turning away from the chest, Rorlan walked over to Treket and set a hand on his shoulder. Treket looked up to him, and chirruped.

  “Shh. I’m going to go make some tea. Would you like some?” Rorlan asked. Treket’s ears pricked up and he nodded quickly. “All right. Don’t move.”

  Rorlan exited the room, and went up to the kitchen to make two cups of tea. One was pumpkin spice, and the other was a personal favorite of his own, black licorice with chamomile. He carried them back down, and paused in the doorway.

  Treket looked up at him from where he was on the ground, curled around the wrigglers he’d pulled out of the chest. He flattened his ears and curled tightly around them. Rorlan resisted the urge to sigh at them all. Treket really knew better. He’d get daymares if he tried to sleep anywhere but his hammock.

  Rorlan walked over and sat down next to Treket. He set the tea on the ground and reached over to pet Treket’s hair. It was still damp from the bath, and Rorlan found it to be a nice contrast to the normal greasy mess it usually was.

  Treket pulled his own tea closer, and sipped it. He started to purr at once. The wrigglers began to chirp and click and give tiny purrs of their own. It really was a heartwarming scene, even if Rorlan refused to see it as such.

  The wrigglers began to settle down when Treket flicked his light on dimly, and Rorlan slowly lowered himself to lay on the ground as well, a few inches from Treket.

  “Hello.” Treket said. Rorlan rolled his eyes. “The tea is lovely. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Go to sleep.” Rorlan said. Treket finished his tea quickly, and closed his eyes. His breathing took several minutes to slow, and when it did, Rorlan scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Treket.

  He snuggled in close, trying to ignore the wrigglers that migrated from Treket’s warmth to his own cooler body. It didn’t take long for Rorlan to fall asleep as well.


	2. Lepi/Scendi

  Scendi sits at his table. He runs his hands over the top again and again. Trying to memorize it. Carve it into his mind so his hands never forget.

  The darkness is suffocating. He hates it. It infuriates him. Even with the lighs turned all the way on, all he can see are dim shapes. He feels trapped and he’s never liked being trapped. Never.

  He wants to scream and hurt and tear until it’s fixed, but he can’t. Not this time. Violence won’t solve this issue. 

  What hurts the most, even more than being nearly helpless, is that he can’t fly anymore. He can’t see the ground under him, he can’t be in the helm room monitoring, he can’t input the information, he can’t direct. He can’t do _anything_.

  Something touches his arm and he jerks away from the touch.

  “Sorry!” Lepi. It’s Lepi, Lepdus, the moron, the stupid, _stupid, fucking, jade blooded, moron._ “I’m sorry, Scendi, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Scendi growls under his breath and twists until he can see the dim shape that is Lepi. “I’ve told you to fucking talk and announce you’re here so you don’t scare the piss out of me, idiot.”

  “I know, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to.” Lepi says. He sounds sheepish, apologetic even. Scendi can almost see the expressions, burned into his memory like a brand. His grip is tight on his chair. Tight enough to cut off blood circulation. He growls softly.

  Lepi sets his hand back on Scendi’s shoulder, and rubs.

  “I wanted to check up on you! See if you were all right.” Lepi says.

  “Do I _look_ all right?” Scendi snaps. Lepi pauses in his rubbing for a moment, then continues. “No, I’m not all right, and I’ll never be all right again. I’m almost blind.”

  It’s on the tip of his tongue, to tell Lepi that it’s his fault that Scendi is blind. They’re words that they both know are true, that their team knows are true. And it’s right there, right on the tip of Scendi’s tongue. But he bites it back, doesn’t let himself say it. He’s not that cruel, not to Lepi. To others, yes, but never to Lepi, even if he’s so mad it starts to burn inside him like a fire.

  “Can I get you anything?” Lepi asks. It’s pathetic that he tries so hard. He tries so hard and fails so often and Scendi wants to scream at him and slap some sense into him. “I can make that tea you like!”

  “Shut _up_ , kid.” Scendi says. Lepi goes quiet. Scendi is about to open his mouth to say something else, but Lepi speaks up again, voice brighter than ever. How he forces himself to be so optimistic, Scendi will never know.

  “Or those books that-”

Anger explodes out of Scendi’s mind, hot and fierce. For the first time in ages, actual rage takes over sullen resentment.

  “I can’t read anymore, you dumbass!” Scendi yells. His voice is too loud and he registers that Lepi removes his hand. He can hear the step that Lepi takes back. “I can’t fucking read-”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

  “And I’ll _never_ be able to again-”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “And it’s-”

  “ _Scendi_!”

  “Your FAULT!”

  Silence. Deafening, horrible, terrible silence. Scendi can’t remember the last time Lepi had been _that_ quiet for that long and not been asleep. Even his breathing seems to have stopped. It stretches on. Too long. The shape moves away and the door closes and Scendi is left alone.

 It’s not surprising. Scendi has always been alone. Even with his team, even snuggled up with Lepi in some half made pile and pet until he’s calmed down from one of his seething rages, he’s been alone. He’s shut himself off and he knows he has no one to blame but himself.

  Not a damn person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this could've been better but I'm feeling like that with almost all my work lately. 
> 
> Anyway have a tol Jade pup and his salty moirail. These two kill me.


	3. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three trolls react (or don't react) to rain. Warnings for violence and mentions of violence.

Cath’s hate for water was completely understandable when one realized that he could barely drink water without his robotic parts short circuiting. He sighed quietly as he stared outside of the awning he stood under. The pitter patter of the rain splashing into the mud and puddles of the road was a horrible sound. It tasted like electronic discharge and psionic power being forced into his body. It felt like fire searing across his torso and destroying him. It felt like his limbs being severed and his life being ruined.

 It had been raining the night they’d found him. It was always raining when bad things happened. The night he’d realized that Rihiro’s rebellion could never win, but that he’d continue to fight until it did. The day that he’d heard ilosip had been chosen for early recruiting. The night after, when he’d heard he’d died. The night Emmrie had ran away. The night Kindra had been injured.

 Rain was a bringer of bad. Cath hated the rain. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the beating of his heart. It would be over soon, and he could go back hive.

* * *

 Cervidae hunted. The leaves under her feet crinkled from time to time, and the soft sound of the breathing filled the otherwise still air around her. It was silent, other than that and the rain. She could hear everything, see very vague shapes. She could see enough that she didn’t run into a tree, but no more than that. Her sight had been robbed from her by that damned rainbow drinker. The first one she’d killed.

 Rain drizzled around her, but her coat and scarf protected her. Her combat boots didn’t let in a drop of the water. It made the handle of her ice pick slippery, though, and she adjusted her grip often to make sure she could still hold it. The sound of it falling from the trees and onto the leaves blurred her senses.

 A sound, the cracking of a branch, made her freeze. The drinker. It came from her left, she was sure, so she turned and crept that direction. A quiet curse and a scuffling noise. It was panicking. Cervidae did not panic. She ran, but she did not panic. She could see it moving in front of her, the blurry, almost invisible creature.

 With a leap, she took over the drinker and buried her pick in it’s back. It screamed with pain, and flash banged. Cervidae did not flinch. She could barely tell that it brightened. She yanked her ice pick out, and began to hack, sometimes hitting the ground and sometimes hitting the troll that writhed and groaned under her. Tiny bits of psionics held it down, held it in place so she could off with its damned head.

 And off with its head she eventually managed. A cracking noise as the flat of her pick bashed into the bottom of its skull made her almost smile. The drinker screamed still, and she stood up. Her psionics held it down as she took one more swing and destroyed what was left of its skull. Her strength was not great and she barely pushed it into the skull. So she tried again as the drinker sobbed and begged. Blood streamed down and curled around her boots and under leaves unnoticed. Cervidae could not see the blood. She did not care. She cared only that the drinker died.

* * *

 Rain. Cold, cold, cold, rain. Aunkii stared up at the sky, watching it fall on her. It was the first time in a long time that she’d come up out of the water. And still, here it was, surrounding her, drowning her, touching her. She hated how out of control she felt. How she couldn’t make it do what she wanted. She reached up and up and thought _stop touching me_.

 Nothing happened for a few moments. The same cold water fell on her gray skin and soaked her black dress. Then it stopped. She blinked and her lips parted. The water no longer fell on her, no longer soaked her, no longer chilled her.

 She realized belatedly that it hadn’t stopped. It simply moved _around_ her, trickling off to the sides instead of falling on her. It was as if her hand were an umbrella. She lowered her hand, and the water stayed trickling off to the side, hitting a few inches above where her palm had been and then moving of its own accord. A miracle.

 Aunkii began to walk down the beach. The water continued to part for her. It was so relieving she could’ve wept for relief of it. She pranced her way down the beach and to her hive. Into it she went, and behind her, the water dripped down to the ground normally.


	4. The Government Has Always Hated You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Ca-No. No, it’s Onipas Cathri. And the Government has always hated you. From the moment your mutant blue grub-body that barely fell under regulation squirmed out of it’s egg, the government hated you.

  Your name is Ca-No. No, it’s Onipas Cathri. And the Government has always hated you. From the moment your mutant blue grub-body that barely fell under regulation squirmed out of it’s egg, the government hated you. 

  It hated you for what your ancestors were. Rorlan, especially. His life was sketched out for him, a troll who would work in the navy and become high up, as Desmon had been. But…But he’d refused that life, and made a bakery. He’d been a quiet troll, living in semi-disgrace, and that had insured that you would never become anything. Even if you spent your whole life working as hard as you could for the government, you couldn’t do anything more then make the Cathri slate clean.

  But you were not a good troll. No, you picked fights and got yourself nearly killed, you let a jade-blood use your body for his cyborg experiments, and you hid away from the government so you wouldn’t get drafted. You did everything wrong.

And then you met her. Rihiro. The perfect troll that made you fall face first into the pity-zone. She was, this perfect troll, beautiful and small and with this strong streak deep in her. 

Rihiro was perfect, and you became so flushed for her. You learned that hating people because of their blood color, or looking down on them, was bad, and that forgiveness was important. You learned so much more, and when she started her rebellion, you were there for her. You were _ready_  to fight with her. 

You were also a space pirate for a bit, stealing things from the government and giving information that you stole to Rihrio. You helped in her rebellion. You were never one of the planners, but you were a good fighter, and you fought in every battle you could. 

Now, standing here on the edge of the battle field, there’s a feeling in your gut that tells you you won’t make it out of this one. It is a truly awful feeling. Your staff feels light and like it’ll snap the moment it touches anything, and you swear your arm is acting up. 

But the government has always hated you. It’s refused you help, and it’s spat on you and everything you believe in. If for no other reason then to spit back, you will fight tonight. 

You lift up your staff, and inhale. The government hates you. It always has, and it always will. 

And you will hate it right back.


	5. RorKet 2

  “I’ve got you. It’s going to be all right.” You soothe your hand over the back of Treket’s neck in an attempt to soothe his trembling form. He digs his nails into your thigh, hard enough to draw blood even through your clothing. 

  “It’s _not_ , I’m going to, _die.”_ He whispers, accent deepening as the finely tuned control he has on himself slowly slips out of his grasp. “Rorlan, _do_  something.”

  There’s nothing you can do besides pap him and make sure he doesn’t run off, so you make a soft, helpless noise, and pap his hair. The park bench the two of you are sitting on is cold, and seeps the heat from your body. You don’t know if it bothers Treket so much, but it’s giving you chills. This clearly isn’t working anyway, so you stand up, gently hauling Treket up as well. 

  “We’re going home, it’s all right. Just hold on a while longer.” You say, gruff voice soft and gentle for him. He sags against you, and you almost carry him back towards your bakery. 

  By the time you get there, he’s dissolved into quiet sobs. His ears are pressed flat against his skull, and he’s shrank against you. It hurts a deep part inside you as if you’ve been stabbed. You whine quietly and hurry him into the basement, where the wrigglers are napping. They wake as Treket enters and heaves out a wet, pathetic sob. 

  With delighted screes, they rush their caretaker, and he drops down to gather them up and stroke them and check them for injuries. 

  You sit behind him, with your back pressed against the door, and let him sob it out. The wrigglers, becoming distressed over their caretaker’s distress, begin to sniffle, and then to wail, and you press your ears down with a hiss. 

  Obviously, though, this is where Treket is most at home. He shuts off his own crying, turning from pathetic victim to caring parent with shocking fluidity, and coos quietly to them. One by one, they hush themselves, and curl up in Treket’s lap, on his shoulders, and in his vest to continue their nap. You slowly scoot over to him, and wrap your arm around his shoulders. 

  “It will get better.” You whisper. He sniffles, and doesn’t look at all convinced. 


End file.
